


I'd give her a HA! And a HI-YA!

by ms_scarlet



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, Canon Compliant, F/M, Missing Scene, POV Outsider, spoilers through 304
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23111191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_scarlet/pseuds/ms_scarlet
Summary: Mick had been there the first time Rio'd had to get his hands all the way dirty and had kept an eye on him when he'd gotten blackout drunk after, and Rio'd done the same for him. Every bloody, grimy step Rio'd climbed, Mick had been right there with him, watching his back all the way to the top.The point is Rio's Mick's brother in every way that counts.Mick'd seen him twisted up over business and twisted up over personal shit, but he's never seen him let both get twisted up like he had since that fuckin' weasel Boomer'd got his ass handed to him and Rio'd gotten curious about it.--Four times Mick doesn’t get it and one time he does.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Comments: 47
Kudos: 269





	I'd give her a HA! And a HI-YA!

**Author's Note:**

> You may be asking yourself if I really invented an entire backstory and relationship based on a tertiary character who only just got lines for the first time last episode and the answer would be yes, obviously. It's the time-honored fanfiction way.
> 
> Title from the late 90s animated classic: Anastasia

I.

"You’re short one, man. Where's my other bag at?"

"The Fine & Frugal got robbed." 

"Come again?"

"Boomer said it was, and I quote: 'a checkout bitch, her milf sister, and their friend.' Came in there with ski masks and guns and cleared out the vault." 

"No shit? You think he's lyin'?"

"Nah, he don't have the brains or the balls. I didn't even get past the talking to him part before that fuckin' weasel was wailing and moaning about how it isn't his fault."

"Tuh. A'ight, let's go." 

"You sure? I can handle some soccer moms, you've got that Canada situation."

"It can wait. I want to get a look at the mama who thought she could take my money." 

*

Right, so, here's the thing. Mick's known Rio for a long time. Like, nearly all the way back, come up together, ride or die, more family than family, long time. Not all the way back to diapers, but as far back as skinned knees and lost teeth. Far enough back that he'd known Christopher inside and out before there'd ever been a Rio.

Rio'd been the first kid Mick'd met when he moved to Detroit with his mom and his sister in the third grade. Just two knobbly-limbed kids a few years out from their growth spurts outnumbered by female relatives looking for someone who'd appreciate the beauty of a perfectly hawked loogie without telling them they were _soooo gross_. Rio'd asked Mick if he wanted to help him build a model airplane, and it was on from there. 

Rio'd given Mick his first black eye when he'd caught him getting his first kiss from Rio's older sister. Mick had distracted Marisol Riviera's boyfriend while Rio got dome for the first time under the bleachers. Rio'd been the one to bring Mick in when he'd started selling nickel bags for Gabriel and wanted backup, knowing Mick could use the extra cash. Mick stood as godfather for Marcus, and Rio'd been best man when Mick and Dani had gotten married. 

Mick had been there the first time Rio'd had to get his hands all the way dirty and had kept an eye on him when he'd gotten blackout drunk after, and Rio'd done the same for him. Every bloody, grimy step Rio'd climbed, Mick had been right there with him, watching his back all the way to the top. 

The point is Rio's Mick's brother in every way that counts. 

Mick'd seen him twisted up over business and twisted up over personal shit, but he's never seen him let both get twisted up like he had since that fuckin' weasel Boomer'd got his ass handed to him and Rio'd gotten curious about it. 

Honestly, if Mick'd known the sheer magnitude of bullshit he was going to kick off that day, he'd have fuckin' lied and figured out how to make up the difference himself. 

But he hadn't, and they'd gone out and met those girls, and then Mick got to watch Rio break every one of his rules one after another, and then watch him let that woman break them too. 

Mick got it, sort of. She was smokin' hot—not that Mick was interested, he'd only had eyes for Dani from the moment she'd given him his first tat, laughin' at him for the way it made his eyes water—and didn't take any of Rio's shit which Mick had figured was probably a refreshing change of pace for Rio, even as it infuriated him. That last part was kind of a trip, to tell the truth. Rio didn't get tied up in knots often, but there were times he'd been so bent out of shape over that woman, he'd full-on pretzeled, goin' on and on about her bitch ass drama and how he didn't need it, then droppin' everything to turn up the minute she'd say boo. It was funny as hell. At first. 

The thing is, there was some shit you couldn't let people get away with, especially not in the position Rio's in. 

When she got Rio popped and their whole operation shut down a year and a half ago, Mick'd thought it was over, the end of the milf experiment, and he'd been relieved, to tell the truth. She seemed like a nice enough lady, for all the trouble she caused, but she was definitely not the kind of distraction Rio could afford.

But instead, Rio'd just fuckin' laughed, _laughed_ , and said it's cool, they were even, he'd shot her husband. 

That's when Mick'd started to get worried. 

II.

"'Ey, I need you to post up at that bitch's house and make sure she don't do nothin' stupid."

"She still alive?"

"She said she's knocked up."

"You believe her?"

"Just watch her, a'ight?"

"What do you want me to do if she tries something?"

"..."

"Don't worry about it, man, I got it."

So, Mick had hauled his ass out to the 'burbs and posted up in the Boland backyard because that's what he does, Rio makes the call and Mick answers. The husband was a trip, squawkin' at him about how he needed to get out, and he'd call the police. Mick didn't pay him any mind, he knew the type: thinks he's big shit but has nothin' to back it up. 

Sure enough, after Mick patiently explained he wasn't going anywhere without his boss' say so, he'd gone a funny shade of green, lookin' like some melted ass ice cream, and toddled his ass back inside. 

Mick couldn't figure it out, he didn't think that much of the Boland lady, but goddamn she was better than _that_.

The lady in question came home an hour or so later, and Mick can see her arguin' with that sad sack husband of hers through the window. He doesn't need the script to see the way she plays him, lettin' blow up, then batting those big eyes at him and talkin' him down before sending him off with a snack. How the fool doesn't see the exhaustion and contempt radiating off of her, Mick can't fathom. He can read it plain as day, and he doesn't even know her. 

After that, she comes marching out into the yard like Mick figured she probably would. 

"Evening," he says, polite as you please, he's here to prevent trouble, not start it.

"I'm not going anywhere," she says, lips thin.

"That's good then, makes my job easier."

She doesn't like that much. "You don't need to be here." 

Mick shrugs. "I think we both know that's not either of our calls."

Oh, she really doesn't like that one. Mick can see her temper flare at being thwarted and see her reel it back under control just as fast. It's a look he's got a nearly all the way back lifetime of experience interpreting. 

Interesting.

"Where exactly does your _boss_ -" 

The way she says it sounds more like a curse word than if she'd just flat out called Rio an asshole. 

"- think I'm going to go, exactly? Does he think I'm going to abandon my kids or pack them up and take them with me? Does he imagine I'm going to pull them out of school, or am I going to go to ground somewhere within the school district? How exactly-"

"Mrs. Boland." Mick breaks in because he can see her working herself up into a full head of steam and neither of them needs that. She blinks at him, clearly surprised, Mick assumes by the honorific. He's gotten a lot of mileage over the years out of people not expecting common courtesy from someone with facial tattoos. 

"We both know this isn't about that."

"What is it about then?"

Mick just looks at her for a long moment, trying to decide if she's playing dumb or in denial. "You know."

She closes her eyes and takes a slow, shaky breath, and Mick sees the fight go out of her, replaced by weariness.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Not if you don't make me," he tells her.

She sighs and looks off into the distance. Mick waits for a moment and then goes back to his phone. Whatever she's chewing on, she'll spit it out when she's ready. Or she won't. Not his problem.

"How is he?" She eventually asks, and Mick isn't sure which of them is more surprised she actually asked it.

"Pissed." Mick laughs a little at the enormity of understatement. She smiles a wry little smile like she gets it, which, Mick doesn't know what exactly has gone down between them, but he knows how subtle Rio can be when he's in his feelings, so Mick figures she probably does.

"Would it-" She cuts herself off, fighting some internal battle. Mick waits patiently, curious to see where she goes. "Would it help if I'd take it back?"

Mick cocks his head and studies her, surprised. He hadn't expected her to regret it. In a general sense, sure, a woman like her isn't exactly the type to get her hands dirty, but not about Rio, specifically. She'd done damn near everything in her power to drive Rio up to and over the edge, and from what Mick could tell never seemed to give all that much of a fuck as long as she got her way. 

He'd always assumed that whatever _thing_ they had going between the two of them was some kind of a fetish on her end. She obviously got off on money and power, two things Mick had watched girl after girl chase after his boy for. Mick'd figured she was just another flavor of that in a curvier, uptight package. A soccer mom looking for a walk on the wild side and throwing a tantrum when she didn't get her way. 

He'd told Rio as much, and Rio'd just laughed him off, telling Mick it ain't no thing, so Mick figured he was on top of it. By the time he realized Rio wasn't—right around the time he'd started sending her body parts to get her attention—Mick realized there was nothing for it but to ride it out and try to contain the fallout when it inevitably went all the way wrong.

That part hadn't worked out so well, but there's only so much he can do when Rio gets it in his head to do some dumb shit.

But here she is sniffling a little, tryin' to hide the fact that she's wiping at her eyes and as far as Mick can tell she's sincere. She seems like she actually cares, regrets that she'd hurt him.

Mick hadn't expected that.

"Maybe," he tells her because against his better judgment he feels for her and who knows, it might even be true. A huge part of the problem is Rio's a wildcard where she's concerned.

"But probably not," he tells her, because that's also true.

She nods tightly and turns to head back inside, pausing on the patio to look over her shoulder. "I don't want you in the yard when the kids get up in the morning."

Mick’s still laughing to himself as he gets in his car. She’s got some brass, you can’t argue with that.

III. 

"What comes next?"

"Nothin' good."

Mick can see it, Rio pulling on the armor that lets him be who he needs to be to handle his business, the shield between that gawky kid with the skinned knees from way back when and the Detroit crime boss he grew up to be. 

He remembers the night they'd gone to see Eddie, that was a bad one. They'd known that kid since he was 10, trailing behind them askin' to be in it, setting off firecrackers clenched in his sticky little fist to show 'em he was hard enough. 

The kid had tried to pretend he didn't know what they were there for, but he never could lie for shit, and everyone knew what it meant when Rio showed up on your doorstep at two in the morning. The kid had gone bone white before he started cryin' and sayin' he was sorry, and he didn't mean it and shit, snot running' down his face as he blubbered. Rio'd stood tall, but Mick'd seen the way his hands shook a little when he cocked the gun. 

Afterward, they'd gone to a pool hall, and Rio'd done probably about ten tequila shots in twice as many minutes, picked a fight with a hustler and put him in the hospital by breakin' every cue in the place plus a couple of bottles over the sorry bastard's head. 

The way Rio looks now, sitting next to the Boland lady in the dim bar, reminds Mick of the way he'd looked when they'd left Eddie's apartment. Like he's got the weight of the world on his shoulders except for this time, he also looks like maybe he doesn't know if it's worth it anymore, and that stops Mick up short. 

He'll do it, though, Mick knows his boy and knows where he's stuck. Rio can't let her go without everything falling apart. He'd been gone too long, and all the raids on top of it had thrown shit into chaos. People are jumpy and paranoid, and the only thing that gets through to 'em when they're like this is a clear line enforced with blood. 

So when Rio names a number, giving her a shot to buy her life back, Mick nearly falls off his stool. 

Then she gets up to leave, and Rio gives Mick the nod, so he stays where he is despite his misgivings with the whole situation. 

"He's my ride," the Boland lady says when she catches on to the change of plan, haughty as you please, and Mick can't help but be a little impressed. He'd thought she had brass but it's more like steel. She's walking the knife's edge of losing her life, and she knows it, but she still has the nerve to talk like she's got clout. 

It's the kind of shit Rio loves to pull, to be honest, and Mick blinks at her, considering. 

Rio hums in disagreement, contemplating the bar top and tipping his chin at the bartender. "He's your ride now."

The kid promptly drops his towel on the counter he'd been wiping down for the last twenty minutes, pretending he doesn't see anything or hear nothing, and without missing a beat, catches the keys Mick tosses him. That's how it's supposed to be 'round here. The boss tells you where he wants you, and you fall in line, no back talk. 

The Boland lady looks from Rio to Mick to the kid, her skin going blotchy. "What? Do you need a status report? I can save you the time: I haven't done _anything_. Give your goon some new marching orders because I can't live like this."

"Go home, Elizabeth," Rio tells her without looking at her, and after one last long look that Rio pretends he doesn't see, she does.

"She's a pistol," Mick says with no small amount of irony as he locks the door behind them. 

Rio laughs, a bitter gust of a sound, as he leans across the bar to grab the rest of the tequila bottle and two glasses. "You ain't even know the half of it."

"What's the way, boss?" Mick asks while Rio pours them both a drink. 

"Fuck if I know," Rio says, rolling his shoulders out. "Dani good with you being out the house for a minute?"

"She's fine, says you owe her."

Rio laughs. "You'd think she'd want your ugly ass out of the house more often so she can get some peace and quiet."

"That says more about the people you bring home than me. Bring Marcus by this weekend, she'll call it even."

"Yeah, a'ight. I can make that happen."

They drink in silence for a while, and Mick waits. Rio'll get around to why he wanted him to stay back in his own time. 

"What's she up to?" 

Mick sighs, knowing from the tone they aren't talking about Dani anymore. He'd figured it was something like that but hoped it wouldn't be.

"Shit. Mostly lying on the couch or starin' out the window. She had her girls over for a minute." He hesitates, not wanting to push this any further, but figures fuck it, it's not like Rio don't know it already. "You got her feelin' some type of way, that's for damn sure."

Rio looks into his tequila for a minute, like it's got something to say to him. "Good."

"She said she'd take it back." Mick's not sure why he says it, it's only going to make things more complicated, but he doesn't feel right knowing she's got that kind of regret when Rio doesn't.

Rio's jaw works, but he doesn't say anything.

Mick watches him for a minute, trying to figure out where this is going, how it's gonna be. But as well as he knows Rio, he can't read him when he doesn't want to be read—Rio's always been the one that can solve people like puzzles, Mick's the muscle; he doesn't mind, they both have their roles to play—and right now he's locked down tight.

He looks tired, though. Worn thin in a way, Mick doesn't know if he's ever seen him look, and Mick wonders how much of that is new and how much is that up until now he'd gotten better at hiding it. He needs something new, something to light that spark that makes the work fun and not just going through the motions. 

"What's the way?" Mick asks again softly. 

"I don't know," Rio says, finishing his drink and that, more than anything, unnerves Mick. An uncertain Rio leaves everything on the table, and there's no way of knowing what's a live grenade and what's nothin' more than an empty shell.

Later, when Rio drops Mick off and picks up the kid, Mick's not even sure if Rio registers how he looks to the house, drawn like a magnet. Mick follows his gaze and sees curtains twitching like someone had just been there looking out, and he doesn't need to be able to read people on Rio's level to guess who when Rio's face tells him everything he needs to know. 

This isn't going to end well for any of them. 

IV.

"So. Who makes your money?"

Rio says it with a smile, but anyone who knows anything at all in Detroit knows when Rio smiles at you like an unsheathed knife, all hell's about to break loose. 

Mick knows the stages of Rio utterly losing his shit with the kind of intimacy you only get from long-term exposure, and this fuckin' weirdo with his loud ass titty van is in for it. 

First, Rio plays with you, mocks you, makes it seem like everything's a game, but even the halfway stupid can tell there's blood in the water, and the sharks are circling. If you can't, you probably shouldn't have gotten into this business in the first place, so in some ways, it's a blessing that you're about to be helped right out of it. 

Second comes the charm, the smiles, and compliments wrapped around razor blades slicing you a little deeper with each salvo. The charm will dazzle you and keep you from noticing you're bleeding out until it's too late to do anything about it. The charm's the lure and the trap laid out with pinpoint precision, carefully calculated to seek out and exploit any chinks in your armor. 

After that? That's when things get dangerous. The next stage comes in two flavors: hot or cold. When Rio's temper runs hot, things break, cities burn, all control and finesse are so far out the window, they may as well have never been there in the first place. People don't expect it because up until this point, he's been so controlled, but when Rio lets himself off the leash, he's a forest fire, a dazzling fireworks show that more often than not leaves an empty field of ash behind. 

The cold, though, that's the one you gotta watch out for. Hot's unpredictable and half the danger comes from the uncertainty: there's no telling how it's gonna end, you just have to ride it out. The cold, on the other hand, is a straight shot to the end of the line. When Rio goes cold, it means someone's gonna die. 

Mick had never seen an exception to that rule right up until the night Rio'd met the Boland lady at the bar a few days after he'd come back. He'd left ice-cold driven by furious purpose, and Mick'd stayed up waiting for a call that never came. 

The next time he'd seen Rio was three days later and from what Mick could tell he'd spent them on a bender which wasn't that surprising given what Mick knew he'd set out to do. The part that gave him pause was the lack of a body to dispose of. 

The Boland lady seemed to have a knack for wiggling her way out of the consequences that came for everyone else, and that made Mick nervous. He'd known she was a problem for a while now, but that was the first time he'd realized she was a much bigger one than he'd thought. 

Mick had thought she was business with a vein of personal, but now he sees it's personal all the way down to the bone. The business is just the wrapper at this point, and that?

That's not good. 

So when that amateur spits out the rag and tells them his boss is just some bitch out in Ashfield, Mick wasn't sure what version of Rio was gonna come out to play because none of them seem to mean the same thing when it comes to that woman.

Turns out the answer is none of them, he goes completely blank before turning back to look at the money like it'd bit him.

The moron in the chair starts to panic. "What do you want to know, man? You want the main bitch's address? I know where she lives."

The temperature in the room drops sharply, and Mick nearly sighs aloud, but unlike everyone else in the room, he still knows how to hold his cards close to his chest. 

"That right?" Rio's voice is ice.

"Yeah, man, she had me over at her house making drops. She's got kids and shit. Leverage." 

Mick figures the idiot's skull's thick enough that when you get through all that bone his brain's probably the size of a walnut, that's the only way he can figure anyone'd be dumb enough to think any of what he's saying is going over well.

Rio keeps contemplating the money, and the moron opens his mouth to keep going, but Mick stops him with a hand to his shoulder and a slow shake of his head. "You're gonna want to stop talking now."

The tension is thick enough in the air that you could get caught in it, and as the minutes drag by, Mick can see the moron gettin' sweatier. When Rio spins around, clapping his hands, Mick's pretty sure he pisses himself, which is probably the smartest reaction he's had so far because Rio's got that get your affairs in order gleam in his eye.

"Here's what we're gonna do, yeah?" He crouches down to get eye to eye with the dead man walking. "My boy here, he's gonna take you downstairs and introduce you to some people. Get to know your coworkers and shit, right?" 

The idiot nods eagerly, clearly not picking up on the fact that those coworkers are gonna introduce him to their boots and keep him down there until Rio decides to let him up or get rid of him. 

After Mick comes back up, Rio's back at the bar, starin' at those bills like he can get them to give up their secrets. 

"What you think, man?" He asks, running a bill back and forth through his fingers, like he can absorb the essence of it—of her more like, and ain't it some shit that they're down to this—if he handles it enough.

"Of the money? Figure out how she's doing it and then get rid of her."

Rio hums, not an agreement but not a denial either, and Mick thinks fuck it, might as well see if this ship can be turned around.

"She'll ruin you."

Rio raises his eyebrows, whether he's more surprised by what Mick's saying or that he's saying it at all, Mick doesn't know, but he forges ahead. 

"I'm telling you this as your friend. I get that there's something there. I've been watching her, right? I see the appeal, but she ain't worth it, not for the price tag she comes with. She's openin' you up to a world of shit."

"You think I'm scared of someone comin' for me?" 

"That ain't the shit I mean." Mick throws it out there, and he knows that deceptively pleasant look is a warning, but he forges ahead anyway. Someone needs to say it, and he's probably the only person that can.

"You don't see straight around her. The list of shit you've let her get away with is longer than anyone else's, and every single thing on the list would've earned anyone else a bullet. You let her short you, you let her set you up with the goddamn feds, you let her push you into a partnership, you let her fuckin' shoot you for fuck's sake, and that's not even gettin' into the shit you've done for her."

He waits to see how it's landing and then finishes his piece. "You say she ain't shit to you, but I look at the math and that don't add up, boss."

Rio inhales sharply, staring Mick down, eyes cold and mouth pressed into a hard, thin line. Mick can see the war in him, but in the end, he doesn't have anything to say to that.

He doesn't let go of that bill either and Mick figures that tells him everything he needs to know.

V.

When Rio comes back from the paper shop, Mick doesn't even have to ask to know it's over, she won. She wiggled her way off of another hook just like Mick figured she was gonna.

The thing that stops him up short, though, is the look in Rio's eye when he pours himself a drink. That worn thin, too tired fog has cleared, the heavy weight has lifted, and Mick can see his brain lit up like a pinball machine with all the ideas runnin' through his head.

The spark is back, and there's only one person he's seen tonight.

So Mick pours himself a stiffer drink than he might've under other circumstances because he thinks he gets it now but it doesn’t change the fact that this can only end one way: in tears. 


End file.
